


Gift of Me

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Romance, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To: the man who has everything ... well almost everything.</p>
<p>From: the woman who can give him everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I think I am having an odd fascination with mistletoe 
> 
> Again it was just supposed to be a short 100 word drabble ... I don't know what happened lol.

It was Christmas Eve; there was a fine dusting of snow blanketing the cars, sidewalks, and roads. It was all very picturesque. If you looked out the window you would see the deserted streets; everyone all tucked away with loved ones celebrating this marry time of year.

However, if you looked into this window, you would see a lone desk lamp on in the otherwise dark, empty office building, not that you would know where this building was or which window to look into, it wouldn’t do to expose the most powerful man in Britain like that now would it.

You would see him having already discarded his suit jacket, having hung it on a hanger and placed on the peg on the back of his en suite door. The sleeves of his crisp, pale blue shirt having been pushed back and folded neatly to his elbows, the knot of his matching royal blue tie having loosened just a fraction, and the dark straps of his braces peeking out from under the shoulders of his waistcoat.

He is sitting at his desk, his form slightly hunched over his computer, while one hand is stretched out to the side scribbling notes onto a document. The artificial white glare of the computer screen serving to cast a harsh light onto his face, highlight the dark circles under his eyes that the otherwise low lighting in the office served to hide.

His is the only light on in the building; having sent everyone home hours ago to go home to celebrate with their families and loved ones. But alas, what does he have to go home to but the sound of silence and an empty home. No matter, while everyone was tucked in the embraces of love and companionship, he would be the sentinel that would keep watch in the night; that would sacrifice for peace and order willingly; for Queen and Country.

Glancing at the small crystal clock that sat on the edge of his desk, he scrubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes at the lateness of the hour. Everyone else might get a holiday, but there was no such thing as a holiday for the British Government; war, death, and destruction didn’t take a day off just for Christmas.

Throwing his pen down, he decided to take a break from pursuing the reports of some of the deep cover agents in the Middle East. Swiveling in his chair, he opened the top drawer of his desk pulling out a stack of envelopes that was held together by a festive looking ribbon; it was a sample of Christmas cards that Anthea had put together for him that she thought that he should/would like to read.

Anthea, she had insisted that she would stay with him this night to assist him with his workload, but he would have nothing of it. Sweet, beautiful, fierce Anthea. She deserved so much, so much more than he took from her due to the demands of this job, and if anyone deserved to have the night off it was she. She deserved to be in the arms of the one she loved on Christmas Eve; to be loved and cherished the way he always wanted to but never had the guts to do. To be able to share sweet, slow kisses under the mistletoe and cuddles in front of a warm fire; to whisper words of love and adoration as they lay tangled in bed. How he wished it could be him, but it was not.

With a long suffering sigh, he untied the ribbon from the stack of envelopes and methodically went through them. Most were just a generic holiday message; a hastily scrawled names across the top and bottom. 

Boring. Too politically correct; the card did not even have a picture of snow or anything winter related. Father Christmas. Father Christmas. Snowman. Melting snowman. Winter. Winter.

All very unremarkable and impersonal; all from people who were trying to suck up to him and not doing a very good job of it; the least they could have done was send a nice bottle of scotch or Christmas cookies.

Tossing the pile of cards aside, he further loosened the knot of his tie so it hung loosely around his neck and leaned back into the soft leather of the chair, allowing himself this one moment of weakness to stretch his long legs out in front of him and slouch back into the chair.

Nothing from her; no card or gift that they traditionally exchanged. Usually they would exchange gifts, nothing too fancy, just a little something after all these long years of knowing and working with one another. For her an exotic tea to add to her collection and an eclectic throwing knife also to add to her collection but that is another story; and for him another pistol that he would not use nor carry (no matter how many hints she threw at him over the years) and a tie of the finest silk. Yes, I know, odd, but it worked for them.

He was startled out of his musing by a light tapping at the door. With his brow frowned in puzzlement he sat up straight in his chair and readjusted his tie; who could it be at this hour, on Christmas Eve no less, he wondered.

Clearing his throat he called for them to entre.

The door tentatively opened and a head adorned with a light grey knitted hat popped around the frame to peek in, “Good evening Sir, I hope I’m not disturbing you?” she asked in a quiet voice as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her and came to stand behind one of the chairs facing his desk, her hands clasped behind her back keeping a wrapped parcel out of view.

Her hair, the ends still curled spilled out from under her knitted hat; her cheeks tinged pink from the cold; a soft, genuine smile playing on her lips, and if he looked close enough (which he always does) the droplets of water from melted snowflakes made her almost shimmer when they caught the light. _She looks lovely_ he thought; it was very rare that he was able to see her this way; dressed for comfort, relaxed and out of view from prying eyes.

He shook his head as he replied “Of course not my dear, but I have to wonder what you are doing here. It is Christmas Eve after all; you should be with your loved ones”

_I am now_ she thought to herself as her eyes connected with his.

“Well... I just...” she looked down to collect her thoughts and summon her courage.

Bringing her hands from behind her back, she presented him with a festively wrapped, small box.

“Happy Christmas ... Mycroft” she said almost shyly, her eyes looking anywhere but at him as she held out the gift.

Standing from his chair, he strode around the desk to stand directly in front of her. His curiosity was piqued as he wondered what the gift could possibly contain that would make his otherwise confident and cool personal assistant to almost appear shy and not be able to meet his gaze.

He distinctly picked up on the use of his given name, something that she so rarely did, no matter how many times he told her to when they were in private.

Reaching out, his hand lightly brushed against hers, the feel of his much warmer hand against her cooler one, sent a delightful shiver down her spine.

Looking down at the gift he slowly turned the box over and around in his hands, taking in the wrapping and the crisp lines. Slowly he pulled at the ribbon, watching as the loops loosed and gave way. Winding the ribbon around his hand neatly, he admired the way the light glinted off the gold and made it shine before putting it in his pocket. All the while he felt her eyes on him; the weight and intensity of her stare made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He ran his finger along a seam that was held together by a clear piece of tape. His perusal of the gift was interrupted by a frustrated growl. The sound that passed from her lips was fierce and almost primal, and it made his head snap up, his eyes wide in wonder, and well let’s just say it made other parts of him snap up as well.

Stepping up to him so that the tips of their shoes were almost touching, she snatched the parcel from his hands and savagely ripped off the paper before thrusting it forcefully back in his hands.

“At that rate we’d still be here come New Years day. I have a whole roll of the wrapping paper at home that you can have if it is so important to you” she grumbled, her fingers twitching nervously, and a deep blush staining her cheeks.  

He stood there momentarily shocked and just blinked down at her (she wasn’t wearing heels for once, and now like this, she would fit perfectly tucked under his chin). Coming back into focus, he was greeted to her impatient and nervous face; her lower lips was caught between her teeth, her brow frowned, and her eyes flitting from one thing to the next, but always coming back to him.

Taking the lid off of the box, he looked down as he reached in and fingered the neatly bound stems. Pulling it out, he held it between them, his gaze moving back and forth between the springs of mistletoe and her, trying to comprehend the meaning.

Dropping her gaze, she spoke into his chest, her eyes keen focused on the pattern of his tie, “I ... well... I thought long and hard about what to get the man who has everything” she said, a slight waver in her voice.

_Not everything, not yet, I don’t have you_ , he thought hopefully as his eyes traced every inch of her as she spoke, committing this moment to memory.  

“And well frankly we both know you have too many ties now, and let’s face it I don’t think I will ever get it through your thick skull the merits of a loaded gun” she continued her lips pursing as she thought of him being at someone’s mercy because he was unarmed.

“So I figured I’d give you ... me” she said as she gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders, her eyes turning shy and vulnerable as she looked up at him from under long lashes.

She steps slightly closer to him, not enough to touch but just enough to invite him in; to tell him that this was what she wanted but not something that she was going to force on him if he did not want her.

There was a tense moment of silence as he absorbed all she had said, and battled with his internal self not to just throw her over his shoulder and make love to her right there on his desk.

Her gaze dropped to the floor as she took his silence and inaction as rejection. She was just about to apologize to him and turn to flee when she noticed his shoes shuffle that half step towards her closing the gap between them.

“Well” he said at last, as he closed the distance between them.

Placing his fingers under her chin, he gently tiled her chin up to raise her gaze to meet his. Staring deeply into her eyes, she saw the warmth and desire swirl in their story blue/grey depths.

Bringing his hand up that was still clutching the springs of mistletoe, he raised it above their heads. “Who am I to break with tradition” he whispered to her as he leaned down towards her and captured her lips in a soft, sweet kiss that he hoped would wipe away any doubts from her mind.

The touch of his lips against hers made her eyes flutter closed, and left her breathless and slightly dizzy. She fisted her hands in his waist coat to steady herself as she felt his arms slide around her; strong and sure, anchoring her to him.

Breaking the kiss with a soft sigh, he smile gently down at her as his hand came up to caress her cheek; the soft pad of his thumb brushing across her cheek. Eyes still closed she leaned into his touch, a soft smile playing on her lips. Not willing to let her go just yet, he drew her body closer to his, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her under his chin, holding her close.

 “A very merry Christmas indeed” he said as he tightened his hold around her and pressed a tender kiss to her hair.


End file.
